Losing Sight of What's Real
by JustMakeLeftTurns
Summary: "Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us." -Jane Roberts. This becomes all too true when Iceland can't tell the difference between his fantasy and reality. The problem is, he's already chosen a world he likes more than the other...but is it the correct one? NorIce, slight DenNor and SuFin, angsty!Iceland, see warnings inside. First chapter edited.
1. Chapter 1

EDIT 7/23/12 – Fixed a spelling error (thanks to 'Guest' for pointing that out) and the Norwegian translations (thanks to Vivaldian).

**Thanks for everyone who reviewed, alerted, favorited, etc. my other Hetalia stories! My confidence has risen a bunch!**

**It was 1:00 AM and I was trying to think of a story, when I suddenly remembered a Transformers story I read several months ago (I'm surprised I remembered it). That story influenced this one. However, they are going to be different for several reasons…If there are any similarities besides the general plot, it is completely coincidental. As I said before, it's been several months (perhaps a year) since I've read that Transformers fic. I don't really remember what happened throughout it except the basic plot, which is what I'm using as the base for my own fic.**

**SO, here it is. By the way, even though it's NorIce and has angsty!Iceland, this is in NO WAY associated with 'Sick, Disgusting, Wrong.'**

**On another note, I've never written anything fluffy, etc. So…tell me how I did.**

**WARNINGS: slight-not-really drug usage (dunno if it counts), language, attempted suicide**

**PAST TENSE/HUMAN NAMES = dream**

**PRESENT TENSE/COUNTRY NAMES = reality**

**Denmark = Matthias**

**Norway = Lukas**

**Iceland = Erik**

**Other human names used should be obvious…If they're not for whatever reason, let me know and I'll add them to the list.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Or the very, very general plotline; that goes to the author of the Transformers story I read (the title and author of whom I've forgotten…so I can't put that here…).**

Losing Sight of What's Real

OoOoOo

_It's a thief in the night to come and grab you_

_It can creep up inside you and consume you_

_A disease of the mind, it can control you_

_It's too close for comfort_

'_**Disturbia,' Rihanna**_

OoOoOo

He entered the room, wearing nothing but a towel. His silver hair, still wet, clung to his face. He paused when he saw the room was occupied by a familiar man. The other man was looking away, hadn't noticed him yet, but he knew who the man was. The Nordic cross clip shone from where it sat in the man's blonde hair. He let a not-quite-grin grace his lips.

He walked stealthily towards the other man, until he stood beside him. The other man turned, his mouth open to speak. Whatever words he was going to say stuck in his throat. He stood quietly, watched the other man trail his eyes up and down his torso. He caught the older man's tongue flicking out of his mouth quickly, licking his lips.

He bent down to the other man's face. He brought a hand to the other's chin, lifted it slightly. He lowered his mouth closer to his. He could feel quick puffs of air from both him and the other, both of their mouths parted only slightly. The other's tongue wet his lips – fast, almost unnoticeable. He captured the other's lips with his own. A lick of the other's lips, and their tongues are suddenly battling. The other man grabbed onto his arm, pulls him towards him. He resisted only slightly, so he doesn't lie on top of him. They compromise; he sits close to the other man, almost on his lap. Not once do their lips part.

His eyes slip closed. He brought his hands to the back of the other man's neck, pushes them closer together. He felt hands tangled in his hair. They were in their own little world. He knows it wasn't real. He commits the feel of the other man's lips to memory, to remember for when they aren't together. Finally, finally, they pulled away, both panting, lips swollen, cheeks red. He grinned shyly, ran a thumb across the other man's cheek.

"Lukas," he murmured breathlessly. The other man, Lukas, quirked an eyebrow, amusement the prominent emotion in his eyes.

"Erik."

Lukas stood, kissed his cheek, left the room. He dressed, dried his hair. His heart thumped excitedly as it had the past eight months. Had it only been eight months? He could have sworn it had been a lifetime. A lifetime of him and Lukas, only in his dreams, but a lifetime. He grinned into the mirror before finding his lover. Lover – who would have ever thought they'd be together? The personified nations of Norway and Iceland. Lukas and Erik. Erik and Lukas.

He found Lukas in the kitchen, making sandwiches. Surprised, he looked at the clock. Was it really already noon? He had just woken up, though. Shrugging, he went up behind the other man – his brother, but they never mentioned that – and wrapped his arms around the other's waist. Lukas didn't react, but he noticed the picking up of his breath. His heart skipped a beat. He loved how he could do that to Lukas, just by touching him.

"Care to tell me why I'm up so late?" He was teasing, he knew that Lukas never wakes him, no matter how much he asked him to. He didn't mind, especially since Lukas was always beside him when he opened his eyes. He wishes. Only in his dreams.

"Maybe you shouldn't go drinking with Matthias until two in the morning," Lukas said dryly, but Erik could hear a playful undertone in his words. He knew how Lukas worried about him, going drinking with Matthias so often. But it wasn't as if he's an alcoholic. He usually stopped after a couple of drinks. Last night had been a special occasion … Okay, Matthias had challenged him to a drinking contest. Lukas hadn't been amused.

He also knew that Lukas gets jealous. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to make those fears of being dumped for Matthias go away. So he did the only thing he could, and that was kiss him and comfort him and reassure him that he, Erik, wasn't going anywhere. That Lukas had nothing to worry about. That Matthias was just a friend – a friend to both of them, he often had to say.

Knowing that those thoughts were spinning in Lukas' head, Erik placed his head on the other man's shoulder. "You know there's nothing going on between us."

Lukas hummed, neither in agreement nor disagreement. Erik sighed.

"He's like my brother, Lukas. That's all. Promise."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. He continued making sandwiches and bagging them – something that confused Erik. "_We're_ brothers."

Erik hummed, mocking Lukas. He tightened his hold around the other man. He placed many kisses on his neck. He felt Lukas shiver. "We're lovers."

It was silent for several more minutes. He placed his nose in Lukas' shoulder. He inhaled, smelling the scent that was all Lukas. His hands made patterns on the other's stomach. He loved Lukas. He wanted him to know this. He kept repeating the same words over and over again, but never did Lukas fully believe him. He wanted to do nothing more than to brush away those fears and doubts that lurked in the older man's mind. He was at a loss of how to do so. And so he always fell back to the comfort and kisses and reassurances.

"Why are you bagging sandwiches?"

Lukas zipped the last one into a bag and placed it with the others in a pile. "We're going on a picnic."

He was surprised. A picnic didn't seem like Lukas' idea of a date. But he wasn't about to say no.

And so that's what they did, half an hour later. They sat on a blanket in the park, facing each other as they ate sandwiches, sipped soda, shared chips. They didn't speak as often as other couples did. They didn't need words. The twitch of a lip here, the slightest of winks there. They understood each other better than any couple.

He, Erik, glanced over at Lukas for the millionth time that minute. He still couldn't believe that the slim figure who sat so close to him was his. All his. No one else's. How had he been lucky enough to get this man? He had been so sure he'd be rejected, perhaps even pushed away after his confession. Imagine his surprise when he'd been pulled into a kiss. A quick kiss – their lips touched for perhaps two seconds – but a kiss nonetheless. For the first time in his years of living, he had seen Lukas nervous, unsure of himself, but willing to try.

Feeling his stare, Lukas looked over at him. He placed his hand on top of his, Erik's, and rubbed it with his thumb. A tilt of the head, a quick burst of emotion in his eyes. He, Erik, returned the gesture. No words needed to be said. They heard each other's thoughts loud and clear.

If only. He'll enjoy it while it lasts.

**/break\\\**

He wakes up as he does every other day of his lonely life. His thoughts still a bit hazy, he smiles – really smiles – at the memory. Him and Norway. Him and Norway…But as he blinks away the last traces of sleep, his grin fades, and he's left, once again, with a hollow feeling throughout his entire being. He closes his eyes, wills himself to fall back asleep. Tears push against his eyelids. His effort is in vain.

Only a dream.

Every night for the past three months he'd had the same dream. It was almost like he was living another life. In this other world, his fantasy, he and Norway were together. Instead of longing for his brother from afar, they were a couple. In love. But it was just a dream. That's all it could ever be.

He gives up on falling back asleep – how he wishes he could stay asleep forever. He absentmindedly goes throughout his day. He doesn't care about anything anymore. He just remembers the dream, thinks about it in all of his waking hours. And when he's not thinking about the dream – always excited for the night – he's thinking about Norway. He's thinking about those lips, that clip, the slim body. He imagines what his brother is like in bed. He imagines what his brother is capable of.

He barely remembers to eat. He tries to sleep during the day but he's slept enough at night. He can't get his body to cooperate with him. He goes about his daily activities – government work, feeding Mr. Puffin – but he isn't _there_. He's numb. He doesn't comprehend anything other than _sleep sleep I want to dream_ and _Norway won't be like that in real life I want him I love him_.

His phone rings around eight that night. He ignores it in favor of looking at a picture of him and Norway. Back when he wasn't in love with the one man he can never have. He memorizes every detail of his brother, both in the picture and in memory – it's been months since he's seen him in person. He knows every thought his brother has, from fear of only being a piece of land to everyone to secretly crushing on Denmark. The latter causes him to frown and knock the picture to the ground. The glass breaks, but he doesn't bother to pick it up. It's just something else in the house that's broken.

The phone goes to voicemail. He listens to it, expecting it to be his boss telling him about some new trade agreement. Instead, he hears the voice of the one person he hates with all of his being. He hates the man for being the object of his brother's love, for replacing him – although, he thinks, he never really had a place with Norway in the first place. He clenches his fists, listens halfheartedly to the message.

It's only a reminder from Denmark of the so-called Nordic reunion the next day. It wasn't so much a reunion as it was Denmark missing the old days when all five of them were together. All of them knew how clingy the man got and how poorly he dealt with abandonment issues. And thus, the reason they all showed up, every year. No matter how much they didn't want to.

Now more than ever, he didn't want to attend. Nothing of importance would occur, anyway. It would be awkward small-talk. Finland and Sweden would make the excuse that Sealand needed to be put to bed and leave. Denmark would practically beg Norway and Iceland to sleep over. In past years, both would stay overnight. This year, he wasn't sure if he would be able to stand being with both the man he loved and the man he despised.

He waits until eight-thirty, then heads to his room. He undresses, opens the top drawer of his nightstand. The only objects in the drawer are a picture of Norway, and a bottle of pills. He grabs the bottle and swallows four dry. He just wants to sleep. The longer he sleeps, the longer the dream – his fantasy – will last. He lies on his bed, waits for sleep to overtake him.

**/break\\\**

As he had every day since they'd lived together, he opened his eyes to see Lukas staring back at him, wishes it could be like that for real. He grinned – he did that a lot lately, more so than he ever had before – and blindly tried to find the other man's hand, keeping the eye contact. Lukas reached for his hand. Their hands gripped each other.

"God morgen," Lukas murmured. He, Erik, leaned in and stole a quick kiss. He would never get tired of kissing Lukas. He's dreamt of it for so long. He wasn't about to forget the feeling that Lukas and him were together. That he could kiss the other man as often as Lukas would allow.

They dressed quickly – they could always shower later – and headed to the kitchen. They worked together, stood close so some parts of their bodies were always touching. They moved fluidly, as if they'd been made to be lovers. They never had to ask the other for an ingredient; it was always passed before a word was spoken. If one had to get to the cupboard, the other would move to allow more room. Never did they have to speak. They read each other well.

They sat together at the table. Lukas stabbed his food with his fork. Instead of bringing the utensil to his own mouth, he brought it to his, Erik's. A slight twitch of the lips, and he leaned forward to take the food in his mouth. He made sure to exaggerate how his lips fluttered, how he hummed in content, how he slowly brought his lips away from the fork. At Lukas' lust-filled eyes, he quirked an eyebrow, stabbed some of his own food, and brought it to the older man's lips. He studied how Lukas swallowed the food, licked the fork clean, tilted his head up slightly so his neck bared _that much more_ –

**/break\\\**

"-land! Iceland!"

He's being shaken. He doesn't like being shaken. It isn't Lukas. He doesn't care who is in his house, if it isn't Lukas. He just wants to sleep and dream. He wants to live in his own fantasy. But the person is persistent. He opens his eyes and glares at whoever has invaded his house, woken him up from his dream _short short too short_.

To his utter annoyance, it is none other than Denmark. He rolls his eyes, turns onto his side so his back is facing the older man. He doesn't have time for this. The pills could still help him sleep. He can still feel them trying to pull him back to his fantasy. He doesn't care that Denmark had broken into his house. He doesn't want to be there. He wants to be asleep. That's all he wants. Of course, luck is never on his side.

"Oh, no you don't!" Denmark says, a little too loud for Iceland's taste. He suddenly finds himself wrenched up into a half-sitting position. Against his will, he's slumping against the blonde. His mind is hazy – the pills haven't worn off. _There's still time._

"It took you forever to wake up!" Denmark goes on. Iceland doesn't respond. "I was about to call Norge."

He's seething on the inside. He wants to punch Denmark in the face, kick him in the nuts. But instead, he keeps his emotions in check. "No one asked you to wake me up." His speech is slurred, but the pills are starting to wear off. He wants to cry.

Denmark kneels in front of Iceland, nearly causing the silver-haired man to fall over, but he holds his shoulders to keep him upright. Iceland is surprised that Denmark is even capable of showing concern, for that's the emotion that was in the man's eyes. He supposed that the man wasn't as oblivious and dumb as everyone believed he was. After all, he _had _been a Viking nation once upon a time.

"Ice, what's up with you?"

He rolls his eyes. "You woke me up from a deep sleep. In case you haven't noticed, I'm still tired."

Denmark doesn't look convinced. He sees the bottle of pills on top of the nightstand – Iceland winces internally as he realizes he never put them away. Denmark leaves him to grab the bottle. Iceland is able to keep himself upright. The pills' effects are almost nonexistent by that point, besides his thoughts being a bit sluggish.

"Iceland." He looks over at Denmark. "Are you on drugs?" The serious tone in the man's voice makes him want to laugh. Instead, his glare sharpens.

"They're sleeping pills. I haven't been sleeping well."

Denmark puts down the bottle, seemingly convinced. "Come on, we've got a reunion to get to!"

Iceland sighs and stands. He stares at Denmark, who – after a couple of moments – finally gets the hint and heads towards the door. As he passes the younger man, though, he looks at him and says, "You'd tell me or someone if there was something going on, right?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. Now get out."

Denmark leaves the room, and Iceland gets dressed. No time for a shower. The moment he exits the room, Denmark practically drags him to his car. They make their way to one of Denmark's houses, where two other cars are already in the driveway. Finland and Sweden probably drove together. So everyone else is already there. Norway's already there. Iceland's heart skips a beat. _Stop stop it's not like the dream._

They enter the house together, Denmark announcing his presence and Iceland slipping away quietly. He stands straight, alone, as Finland goes over to Denmark. Sweden is right behind his 'wife,' a warning glare in his eyes. Iceland's eyebrow twitches. There had better not be a fight. Although, knowing Denmark, he was bound to get into a fight with someone.

Norway stands at the entrance of the room. He, Iceland, finds his eyes wandering over the man's figure, pausing at – ahem – certain points. He resists the urge to belt out his feelings, to shove the man against the wall and kiss him passionately, take him _right there_. Instead, he looks away when the other catches his eye. Norway heads over to him. His heart beats faster, but his expression doesn't change.

"Iceland." Norway speaks in his normal, emotionless voice with his normal, expressionless face. He, Iceland, nods in greeting. He focuses his eyes on Finland, Sweden, and Denmark, although his body and mind are all too aware that Norway is _so close_.

The two of them are silent for several minutes. Unlike in his fantasy, though, he finds it awkward and wants _so badly_ to break the silence. He wants to do many things, but he can't. He settles for 'accidentally' brushing his arm against Norway's as he heads into the dining room and sits. He doesn't want to listen to Denmark's loud voice any longer. And Finland, as kind as he is, is too talkative for his own good. He knows that Norway follows him, but doesn't comment on it. When he sits, though, Norway remains standing beside him.

"Why don't you call me onii-chan?"

He nearly chokes on his own saliva at the abrupt question. He knows the answer. That if he calls Norway onii-chan, then he'll be admitting to himself that they are biologically related, that there is absolutely no chance of them every having romantic relations. That if he admits they're brothers, then his dream will never come true. That his dream and reality are that much farther apart.

He knows it's not what Norway expects to hear. Norway wants to be called onii-chan so much that he, Iceland, is devastated, for Norway obviously wants a familial relationship with him, however subtly he puts it. He knows that Norway wants him to be that child the man found centuries before, the sweet and innocent and adorable child. But he can't be that brother. He can't be that child.

So he says his usual answer, the answer that Norway anticipates anyway. "It's childish. We're all adults here, so why don't we act like it?"

He knows that he, himself, is not quite an adult. The other Nordics are older than he is, both is physical and mental age. He himself is only about 18 years old physically. Mentally, however, he is a cross between an old man – he _had_ lived for centuries – and a young, love-struck teenager. Okay, so maybe there isn't much of a difference between a country's mental and physical age. But that doesn't mean he's a child. He's not an adult yet, but he is close enough. In his mind, anyway.

"You promised you'd call me that if we were –"

"Ever proven to be related. I know."

He sees a burst of surprise in Norway's eyes before it's gone again. He feels surprised, himself. Never before had he interrupted someone. Especially not Norway. He always savors Norway's voice, commits it to memory. He supposes that he's done with pretending he's okay with being brothers with the man he loves. The man he is _in love_ with. He didn't mean to interrupt Norway, though. He blames the volcanoes.

Norway doesn't speak after that. His heart plummets. Has he hurt the man's feelings? He wants to reach over and grab the man's hand – because it's _right there_ – but he resists and watches Finland hug Sweden. Norway heads over to Denmark. He sees the twitch of the lips, the brush of the hands. His hands clench. He's alone. He doesn't belong here. As if he didn't know that before.

The day is spent in a similar fashion. The other Nordics attempt to start up a conversation with him, although his lack of enthusiasm for any of the topics pushes them away until they stop trying. He watches how Finland and Sweden move like he and Norway do in his dream. He watches how they tease each other and hold hands. He's jealous how easily Finland can sit on Sweden's lap and not be pushed away, is instead pulled closer by the taller man.

He has to watch _all damn day_ how Denmark and Norway interact with each other. He sees those brief flashes of emotion from Norway and wishes that he was the one that made him show those emotions. Instead, it's Denmark and his _damn smirking_. How dare he. How dare he steal Norway away from him.

As per usual, around nine that night Finland and Sweden left. Denmark begs Norway to stay. Norway rolls his eyes, doesn't speak, but makes his way to one of the guest rooms. Usually, this is when he, Iceland, would follow and go to his own guest room. But he doesn't have his pills with him and he wants to have an extra-long sleep to make up for waking up early. So he leaves. He has to take a taxi – he doesn't have his car with him – and he's angry at Denmark for that, too. Not only does the blonde take away his brother – the man he loves – but he also makes him spend money on something as stupid as a taxi.

He gets home, not all there as usual. He's drunk a bit of alcohol – after all, what's a Nordic reunion without alcohol – and is slightly tipsy. He doesn't bother to change into his nightclothes. He grabs the bottle of pills and swallows a bunch of them, he doesn't know how many. He just wants to pretend for a longer amount of time that him and Norway are together. That Norway reciprocates his love.

He sits on the edge of his bed and thinks about Norway, as he always does. He must be more drunk than he thought, for he doesn't realize that the bottle is suddenly empty. How much had there been before? He doesn't remember, doesn't care. He feels sleep coaxing him into darkness, welcomes it. He lies down, smiles, waits for the fantasy to continue.

**/break\\\**

The doorbell rang. He answered it and let in the other two Nordics. Tino smiled and gave him a brief hug. Berwald inclined his head. He had lived with Lukas – and himself – long enough to know it was Berwald's way of greeting him. He called to Lukas. As soon as he entered the room, all four sat down – Berwald on a recliner with Tino on his lap, Lukas on the couch with him, Iceland, on his lap.

They spoke of every topic they could think of. Yes, three quiet Nordics and one talkative Nordic can have a conversation. He wishes. This is how he wishes it could be, in the real world. He wants to be able to trust the others with his life.

Their conversation turned to relationships. Or rather, he and Tino did. Lukas and Berwald stayed out of it – probably not finding it comfortable. Lukas invited Berwald out back. The taller men gave kisses to their respective partners and headed to the backyard. He and Tino didn't mind, in fact, enjoyed being able to gossip.

"I want to have a child," Tino said. This surprised him. They already had Peter. He pointed this out to the shorter blonde. Tino hurriedly reassures him that he loved Peter.

"I want a child that has my DNA in it. Or Berwald's. I wish …"

He could understand where Tino came from. He, too, wished to have a child. However, he feared that Lukas would not agree with him. Another dream of his – a dream within a dream, perhaps, or an additional dream added to his dream, if that makes sense at all – would never be fulfilled. He'd deal with it, though, for Lukas. He loved Lukas more than he wanted a child.

Tino was different, though. The blonde knew that Berwald liked kids, and was a good father. Tino wanted a child that was his own flesh and blood, not a child that was bought on ebay – or adopted, as he put it, to make it sound more humane. He, Iceland, wanted a child that was his and Lukas'. But men couldn't get pregnant. He didn't know what to do.

He told Tino all of this – he'd become more open since being in a relationship with Lukas. They went on, back and forth, on all the ideas of how to have a child. Their ideas ranged from having a surrogate to Arthur's magic.

Lukas and Berwald had returned to the room for only a minute when the front door was slammed open. Matthias stood in the doorway, very wobbly and with a bottle of booze in his hand. He rolled his eyes. Even in his dreams Matthias is always drunk. And loud.

"To the beach!" Matthias shouted. The other Nordics don't bother to deny this – ahem – request. It was a nice day, and the beach sounded like a good idea.

One drive to the beach later, the group split up right from the get-go. Matthias stumbled over to a group of human girls and flirted with them. Tino started making a sand castle, Berwald helped. That left him and Lukas. Alone. With the setting sun. One of his dreams is to have a romantic walk on a beach with Lukas. He's finally going to fulfill it. Again. Because they'd already done this before, but it never got old.

They held hands, didn't speak, walked along the edge of the water. They just kept walking, and walking, and walking. Their silent conversations spoke more than words ever could. Just the way he liked it. Their peace was only interrupted once, when Matthias attempted to flirt with him. Lukas was not amused. Once again, he had to reassure Lukas that he wasn't going to leave, that Matthias was just a friend. He could still see the traces of a frown on his lover's face.

They eventually abandoned the other Nordics and went home – they'd all driven their own cars, so it wasn't like they were leaving them to call a taxi. They undressed, sat on their bed. He grinned, kissed Lukas. Eight months seemed like a lifetime. He'd been lucky. Lukas pushed him down onto the bed. The older man straddled him, deepened the kiss. It was all too soon when they both pulled away. He stifled a yawn. Lukas hid a laugh behind his expressionless face.

"Go to sleep, kjære. I'll be in bed soon."

Lukas left after kissing his temple. He smiled – truly smiled – and laid back. He closed his eyes. He was the luckiest man in the world.

"_Wake up."_

His eyes shot open. He glanced around the room. No one was there. He placed a hand to his chest, tried to calm his beating heart. What was that?

"_Please, Iceland, you've got to wake up."_

He sat up, surveyed the room a second time. He was alone. He was hearing voices. His hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. What was going on?

"_I should have known…"_

It was a different voice that time. Why was he hearing voices? Was he finally cracking? Was this some kind of joke? As soon as he's relaxed and happy about his life, the universe throws something else at him? He heard more voices, tried covering his ears, but he could still hear them loud and clear.

"_Why didn't you ask for help?"_

"_You didn't have to do this…"_

"_W'ke 'p, 'cel'nd…"_

"_Please, please wake up."_

"_Wake up."_

"_Wake. Up."_

Just as sudden as they'd began, the voices stopped. Cautiously, he brought his hands away from his ears, glanced around the room. Nothing. He laid back down, focused on calming down. He was scared. He didn't want to go crazy – then again, who did?

The next day, he was wary about every little thing he heard. However, nothing out of the usual happened. Lukas had had to leave for most of the day to meet with his boss. He took the time to clean. He called Tino and chatted for a while. Later, he skyped with Matthias. He told no one of the voices he'd heard.

He promised himself that he'd tell Lukas. Lukas, at least, deserved to know. He didn't want to keep any secrets from his lover. He dreaded telling the blonde, though. What if he broke up with him? What if he sent him to a mental hospital? All day, the pressure built up inside of him.

Lukas came home that night just as dinner had finished cooking. They sat at the table. They had barely begun eating when he blurted it out – any practice speeches he'd thought of earlier completely erased from his mind. He'd expected ridicule, disbelief. He hadn't expected concern. And so he spoke more than he'd spoken to anyone at once, sharing his fears. Not once did Lukas interrupt him.

"_You should have told me."_

"_I was right. There."_

"_You're stronger than this."_

"_D'n't g've 'p."_

He shut his eyes tight, covered his ears. For once, his emotions were open, clear for the whole world to see. He felt tears slip down his cheeks, knew his food was getting cold, but he was scared. He wanted the voices to go away. He didn't know what they were talking about. He didn't care.

"_Why?"_

"_People care."_

"_Wake up!"_

He felt arms around him. He heard Lukas speaking to him – he could tell the difference between the voices in his mind and those that were real. Lukas murmured nonsense to him. He clung to those words, the real words. He laid his head in Lukas' chest, listened to his heartbeat.

When he was sure the voices were gone, he opened his eyes. Lukas didn't pull away. Instead, the blonde held him closer, rocked him back and forth. He held onto him, calmed himself the best he could. The older man murmured sweet nothings to him, some in English, others in Norwegian.

"I'm here, Erik. It's okay. They're not real. I am. I'm here. Jeg elsker deg."

And over and over and over.

They climbed into bed together, their dinner long forgotten. Lukas held him close. He felt his lover's body heat, his heartbeat, his breathing, heard his soft whispers. He fell asleep, his lover – how had he been so lucky? – cuddled up beside him.

**/break\\\**

He opens his eyes. What's happened? The last thing he remembers is the beach. With Lukas and all of the other Nordics. Where is he? He sees white, white, white. White walls. White sheets. He sees people – the other Nordics. Why is he there? Why are they there?

Finland starts to cry, but he's smiling. What's wrong? Sweden holds him close, but the man's eyes are on him, Iceland. Denmark's eyes are red – is he still drinking? Or maybe it's the hangover. That would explain the dark circles under his eyes. Norway is as emotionless as ever, but his hands seem to be shaking. Is he angry? He says the first thing that comes to mind.

"You still mad at Matthias?"

The room is silent, save for Finland's crying. The other four Nordics exchange a look. He doesn't like it. He feels like he's missing something. Like he's not a part of their group. Maybe Denmark convinced him to drink and he can't remember what happened. What exactly is happening? Where is he? His head hurts and his mind is foggy. It hurts to think.

Norway takes a step closer. The man's eyes narrow ever-so-slightly. He surprised to see the worry and concern in them.

"… I was never mad at him …"

He rolls his eyes, states in a matter-of-fact tone – as best he can, since it's difficult to talk for some reason, "Yes you were … you were jealous 'cause you thought he was flirting with me …"

Finland cries harder, but he can tell they're not of happiness now. Sweden leads him out of the room. Norway seems to glare at him, before he turns his head to Denmark. Denmark is frowning, is shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

"… I haven't seen you since the Nordic reunion. I didn't really talk to you."

His head hurts even more now. He doesn't understand. How could Denmark just forget about the beach? The drinking? Something's wrong with Denmark. Maybe the man's had one drink too many.

"What're you talking about? We see each other at least once a week …"

Norway straightens, any emotion in his eyes is gone. Denmark's eyes widen slightly. Denmark rubs the back of his neck.

"… We barely ever see you anymore."

That can't be right. There's something wrong with Denmark. It's the alcohol. He's not sure what's up with Norway. He's expecting a kiss, a squeeze of the hand – for it's painfully obvious that he's in a hospital. But why?

The more he tries to figure out the answer, the more his head hurts. It's a searing pain that causes him to cry out. Why isn't Norway comforting him? Why? What's happening? He welcomes the darkness with open arms.

**/break\\\**

He woke up around noon, remembering the strange dream he'd had. He pushed those thoughts away, focused on his surroundings. Lukas still had his arms around him. He smiled. Lukas' face was so much more open while asleep. He leaned in and kissed the man on the tip of his nose. Lukas wiggled his nose in his sleep. Now holding back laughter, he blew gently onto the man's nose. More wiggling. The man's face scrunched up briefly. He kissed the man's nose, his cheeks, his chin.

Lukas' mouth twitched. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He held back a smirk, leaned in, kissed him gently on the lips. Lukas kissed back, shifted his body closer – was that even possible? His fingers played with blonde hair. His legs tangled themselves in Lukas', pulled the man on top of him. Lukas straddled him and pushed his tongue into his, Erik's, mouth. He let the older man explore his mouth. He moved his hands to Lukas' waist, rubbed patterns through the clothing.

And then the doorbell rang. Lukas broke the kiss. He heard a frustrated sigh escape the man's mouth. The blonde moved to get up. He grabbed Lukas' hips, preventing him from moving.

"Stay."

Lukas kissed him one last time. The doorbell rang again. Lukas went to answer it. He screamed into his pillow before heading towards where he heard their visitors. From the sound of it, it was Tino and Berwald. He ran a hand through his hair. Of all times, they had to show up then? What was it with the other Nordics and not letting him and Lukas live in peace? There was a difference between visiting occasionally to visiting nearly every day and interrupting – ahem – potential intimate times.

He didn't say any of those things. Instead, the group conversed for what seemed like years but was, instead, only a few hours. He'd managed to slip away while making lunch for them all, although that hadn't taken much time. He didn't mean to be rude. Usually, he enjoyed the time he spent with his fellow Nordics. The fact was, though, they never left him and Lukas alone. And thus the reason he was in a bad mood.

However, he seriously considered telling Tino and Berwald that he was hearing voices. On the one hand, he could use the extra support. They would also be angry with him if they found out from someone other than him. On the other hand, he didn't know them as well as he knew Lukas. Lukas had been supportive. What if Tino and Berwald weren't? What if they didn't believe him, or just plain thought he was insane?

He came to a decision while Lukas went to the bathroom. Tino had tried to start up multiple conversations of various topics, but he had refused to keep them going. He saw that Berwald was becoming a little impatient. Tino, too, now had a slightly-strained tone to his voice. He sighed before explaining about the voices.

It took some time before what he'd said had sunk in. He could tell that neither of them was convinced. One long story and Lukas to back up said story later, both of the other Nordics believed him. He felt a little less pressure in his chest. Tino was worried and was asking more questions than he could answer at a time. Meanwhile, Berwald spoke from time to time, trying to help figure out why he was hearing voices in the first place.

He was glad they were taking him seriously. They did more than support him. They were trying to help. However, now he felt overwhelmed. He felt crowded. Tino's talking, Berwald's few but strong, unanswerable questions, Lukas' body right next to his. They were all too close. He was having difficulty breathing. His chest was tight. He couldn't get enough air.

"_Wake up!"_

"_You're dreaming!"_

"_It's not real!"_

"_C'me b'ck."_

"_Why?"_

"_Why?"_

"_Why?"_

"_Wake."_

"_Up."_

**/break\\\**

His eyes shoot open. He gasps. What's happening? Where is he? His eyes finally focus, and he sees white, white, white. He sees the other Nordics. Their faces give the impression that they're calm. Their body language gives away their worry and concern. He doesn't understand why.

He thinks back to the last thing he remembers. He'd been talking to Finland, Sweden, and Norway. He'd told Finland and Sweden about the voices. He can't remember anything past that. Had he fainted? Is he getting blackouts, so he doesn't remember going to bed with Norway?

"I'm so glad you're okay," Finland says. He narrows his eyes in confusion. He's fine. He doesn't understand why everyone else thinks he isn't. Maybe he did faint? But why would they bring him to a hospital if he just fainted?

"You were sleeping, and then you were thrashing around a lot in your sleep," Denmark says. He runs a hand through his hair. "You kept saying something about voices."

Yes, he remembers now. He'd heard the voices … they sounded an awful lot like the Nordics, now that he thinks about it. And then he'd fainted. He remembers the last time he was here, with the Nordics hovering over him. It's not real. He hears Norway's words from last night in his head. It's not real. They're not real. It's a hallucination.

"The doctors say you might be getting lost in your own mind," Norway says tightly. "They say the reason it takes so long for you to wake up is because you have a dream that you think is real. That you might not think _this_ is real."

He looks at Norway. He notices how much of a stranger the man is to him. His eyes are blocked of all emotions – not like his lover's when they catch each other's gaze. He is standing away from the edge of the bed – his lover always lies beside him, regardless of any teasing they might receive. He notices how these, these _imposters_ don't interact with each other – or him – as they usually do.

He huffs – as best as he can without having a coughing fit. He gets comfortable, feels his energy fading. "_You're_ the dream." He hears someone gasp. He doesn't care to see who.

"Islanti, ole hyvä …"

He doesn't care to listen. He cuts off the man, murmurs, almost asleep, "You're the dream …" Slips into sleep, ignores the others' calls for him to stay awake.

**/break\\\**

He felt cool fingers brushing his cheek. He grinned and opened his eyes to meet worried ones. He leaned into Lukas' hand. It was then that he noticed that he was lying on the couch, with no Tino or Berwald to be seen.

"What happened?"

Lukas placed a gentle kiss to his temple. "You heard the voices again, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but how did you –"

"You covered your ears, yelled 'shut up' a few times, then fainted."

He turned his eyes away, embarrassed. Lukas ran a hand through the silver hair. "Tino and Berwald went home. Figured you'd want to be alone."

He sat up carefully. Lukas sat beside him. He saw the man's hands twitch, a slight jerk in his knee, and suddenly he's being hugged. Lukas clung to his, Erik's, shirt, body shaking. He's trying not to cry, he realized. He wrapped his arms around Lukas, rubbed his back.

"Oh, God, Erik," Lukas said, voice shaky. He was shocked at the amount of emotion that Lukas was displaying. "I was so worried. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He did his best to calm the blonde, but his own nerves were getting the best of him. "I'm okay. See? I'm alive."

Lukas pulled away, placed a quick kiss on his lips. "But you're scared. And I don't know how to help you."

He held back tears. He didn't want to seem weak. One of them was already showing emotion. Having both of them reduced to tears would definitely signal the apocalypse. Instead, he held Lukas' hand tightly in his own. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Ég elska þig."

Lukas grabbed his face with both hands and pressed a needy kiss to his lips. He responded fully, pulled the man's head closer to his. Lukas moved so he was straddling him. Hands made their way up his shirt. His own hands went to the blonde's pants. He was suddenly shirtless, and Lukas was suddenly without pants. They pressed needy kisses, desperate kisses to every inch of each other's bodies. Hands explored new territories. Vital regions were invaded. Two countries merged.

Afterwards, they lied beside each other. No words had to be said. They cuddled up close, held hands, took comfort in the other's heartbeat and breathing patterns. They fell asleep, still holding each other.

**/break\\\**

He wakes up, and yet again, he's stuck in this dream. He hates this other reality. At least, he's pretty sure it's a dream. It has to be. Here, everything is wrong. He's obviously not together with Norway. In fact, he sees Denmark and Norway exchange a look. A look that is usually only shared between _him_ and Norway. But not this Norway. This Norway is fake. Everyone and everything here is fake. It has to be. He likes the real … the other world better. Nothing is fake. He loves Norway and Norway loves him.

"I don't want to be back," are his first words. He hates how he sounds so pathetic, so weak. He wants to appear strong and fearless. His words startle the others in the room. He wants to laugh at how unnoticed he is. But not in the other world. People _care_ in the other world. The question is, though, which world is real?

His head begins to hurt from overthinking. He's confusing himself, and everything is getting so much more frightening for him. One world is real. The other is a dream. How can he tell the difference? Does he even want to? For now, he'll decide that this is a dream. The real world is the one where he and Norway are one.

"Y'u h've t' b' b'ck," Sweden says. "Y'u b'long h're."

He shakes his head, refuses to listen. Lies, all lies. He and Norway are completely in love with each other. They can read each other like a book, not at all like this imposter Norway, who is so cold and distant from him. He looks away from Sweden, turns his attention to Denmark.

"What's in your head are lies," Denmark says.

He glares at the man. "How do I know this isn't my mind?" he hisses. "How do I know this isn't fake? That you're not the dream?"

The room is silent. This has to be the fake world. It has to be. It's awkward and quiet and there is no familiarity at all. In the real world, Finland is always talking. Denmark is always flirting, drinking, making dumb jokes. Sweden is silent but always, always supportive. Norway is his lover, is always by his side, even if he's in the wrong. This world is too different. It's not like the real one. Not at all. He doesn't feel like a part of the Nordics. He feels like a stranger here. Not in the real world. He feels like he has a place. He belongs there.

Finland speaks for a few minutes, but he doesn't listen. He refuses to listen to these lies. He will not allow himself to be fooled into thinking this was real. It wasn't. The only thing he hears from Finland is that he talks in his sleep. That he said Norway's human name a lot. That they got an idea of what he was seeing. He refuses to answer them. He refuses to even look at them, preferring to stare at the ceiling. White, like everything else in the room.

The others join in the talking, but he still doesn't pay attention. He will not be fooled. He is stronger than they believe. These imposters don't know him at all. All the more reason for it to be fake. Why would he – _should_ he – live in a world where men he's grouped in with don't know his strengths, his weaknesses. They don't know anything about him.

He thinks too much, and finally, he snaps at them, just to shut them all up, "I don't know what's real anymore!"

He doesn't mean for it to come out so shrill, so scared. He doesn't mean for his voice to break. He doesn't mean for it to be so loud. He doesn't mean for the tears to stream down his face. He has the others' attention now, but he just wants them to leave. He doesn't want them to say any more of their lies.

"Whatever is happening in your mind isn't real," Norway says.

He's angry and frustrated and scared and lost. He doesn't even know which reality is the one within his mind. He knows which one he wants to be real, but how does he know for certain?

"I-I just want to be with my family – _not you_." He's sobbing openly now, and he's yelling, too. He doesn't understand why he's arguing with people who are a part of a dream, a hallucination. For some odd reason, he feels bitter and resentful, at the back of his mind. He doesn't know why he feels this way, but doesn't care enough to try and find out.

"I want to go drinking with Matthias, talk kids with Tino –"

"It's a dream, Ice, that's all it is," Denmark interrupts. "Come back to us. Remember that this is where you belong."

"Even if it is a dream, I'd rather stay there than here!" he shouts. An awkward pause, and then:

"You can't mean that!"

"Don't leave us. We need you here."

"Y'u h've t' b'lieve 's."

"This is real. Not whatever is in your head."

"You're all strangers!" he screams. "In the real world, the dream – whatever the fuck it is, at least I feel like I'm wanted! They care about me. I care about them. I don't feel any of that for or from _you_."

He feels dizzy all of a sudden. He hears a machine beeping rapidly. His head meets the pillow, and he eagerly follows the darkness.

**/break\\\**

He awoke the next morning, once again with Lukas beside him. After the dream the previous night, he was thoroughly scared. What if this was the fake reality? What if it was all lies? So many what-ifs clouded his mind. But he wouldn't let this ruin his relationship. Even if this was the dream, he liked it better than when in the other world. He'd make sure he stayed here.

Lukas left briefly to take a shower. Before going to the bathroom himself, though, he, Erik, told Lukas about the other reality. Or dream. Or real world. Whichever one was the correct answer. He wasn't going to leave his lover out of the loop. Honesty was important in relationships. Especially theirs.

Lukas appeared calm, but his eyes showed concern and slight fear. He, Erik, wondered what scared him. If anything, he was the one who was terrified. What if he became stuck in the other world? Real or fake or something in-between, he didn't like it there.

"I don't want to lose you," Lukas whispered, giving him a hug. He pulled away. "I promise, I'll be here for you. No matter what."

He sighed. "I don't even know which one is real anymore." Seeing Lukas' worried eyes, he hastily added, "I'm staying here. I'm not leaving you."

Lukas nodded, reassured. He, Erik, went up to the bathroom. He took his time showering, needing a stress-reliever. When he found Lukas, though, any stress he had left and was replaced with confusion. Lukas had cooked his favorite meal. He mentally thought of the date, but could think of nothing special happening that day.

He strode up to Lukas, snaked his arms around the blonde's waist. "What's with the food?"

Lukas hummed, in a you'll-find-out-soon-just-be-patient kind of way. He sighed in defeat but, as soon as the opportunity allowed it, turned Lukas around to face him and attacked his mouth with his own. It was only seconds before their tongues began battling. It quickly became very difficult to breathe, but not in a good way.

"_We're losing him."_

"_He's going to die if he doesn't snap out of it."_

"_It's up to him, now."_

He tried to fight the pull, but ultimately felt his knees buckle and his mind fall into darkness.

**/break\\\**

He opens his eyes. His chest hurts. He has trouble breathing. And then he notices. He's back. He's fucking back. Tears slip down his cheeks. Why can't he stay with his family? Why? Is being happy too much to ask for? He doesn't care which reality is the fake one. He just wants to stay where everything is okay. Where people care.

He looks over to the side. Norway stares at him. There's a nervous tick in the man's jaw, revealing how nervous and frustrated he is. He doesn't care. This isn't the Norway he loves. This is a stranger. Just a stranger.

He turns his head away, refuses to even look at the imposter. He waits – pleads – for the other reality to come back. He needs to be asleep. Or unconscious. Whichever one is most convenient.

The voices, right before he returned here – they'd said he was going to die. He tenses at the sudden realization. If he dies in this world, he has no other choice than to stay in the other one. Right? Being in a hospital, it would be difficult to die so easily. He looks at the machines connected to him. That would be the second step. The first step is to get everyone to leave him alone.

"You almost died, Ísland."

He studies the machines. That one is for breathing. The one next to it is for nutrition. Over there is the heart monitor. He licks his lips. This is going to be simple. If only Norway would leave. Then he can be back with his family, this time for good. After all, if he's dead in one world, he has no other choice but to live in the remaining one, right?

"Look at me." He ignores the man. This isn't his lover. He has no say in what he can and cannot do. "_Look. At. Me._"

Surprised, he looks at the blonde. The man's eyes are open. He sees the desperation, the fear. A part of him feels guilty. But the majority of his mind reminds him that he's an imposter. That this isn't his lover. That this world, real or fake, is cold compared to the other one.

Norway grips his shoulders, stares into his eyes. "You are _going_ to _die_ if you don't snap out of it." He doesn't react. Death is what he wants. Norway's grip tightens.

"This is real, Ísland. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and you're falling for them!" He stays silent. It doesn't matter which one is real. He wants to be in the other world.

"I don't want to lose you. I can't lose my brother." He snaps, pushes the man away, sits up harshly, ignores the physical pain the action causes him. He hates this man more than anyone in the world – how ironic, as the man's duplicate is his lover in the other world. But that is exactly why he is angry at this one.

"I don't want to be your brother!" he screams. Tears fall quickly. He yells at Norway, who has his calm expression on his face. An expression he hasn't seen on his lover in months. "I want Lukas. I just want Lukas!"

Norway places a hand on his, Iceland's, forehead. "I _am_ Lukas. I'm right here."

His lover's words echo in his mind. 'I'm here. It's okay. It's not real.' He slaps Norway's hand away. "You're not him. You're not _him_. I want _my_ Lukas. I love him. I love him. I love him." He's sobbing openly, feels it getting harder and harder to breathe.

"Ísland … Erik, he's not real. I am. You need to stay here, with me and the others. We can help you." Norway's words only anger him further. He yanks out the IVs and other wires attached to him, ignores the physical pain and Norway's shouts to stop.

"Don't call me that! You're not him! _You're not him_! I don't want to stay here! I want to be with Lukas. I want to be with him! Let me be with him!"

Norway holds down his arms, tries to keep him still, but he's too angry, too focused on returning to his lover. He somehow manages to push Norway away and stand up. He stumbles – he's obviously not been on his feet here in a long time. He bumps into a machine. The machine falls and breaks. Glass spills everywhere. Glass. Glass is sharp. Perfect.

He grabs a piece of the broken glass, dodges Norway's attempt to jump on him, falls onto his hands and knees in the process. There's glass cutting into his hands and knees, but he doesn't care. He'll be back with his lover soon. He raises the glass to his neck. He's about to add a deep cut to his throat, make sure he'll never return to this fucked up world.

He's tackled to the ground. He wrestles Norway for the glass, screaming words that even he didn't understand. The glass is removed from his hand. He cries. He just wants to go home. He wants to go home to his family. He tries to lunge for the glass again. Norway pushes him down harshly. His head hits the ground. He's losing consciousness. It's then that he realizes that it's nearly impossible to breathe. That's good. He's dying in this world.

He hears doctors and nurses shouting at each other. He also hears Norway. He knows that Norway knows that this is it. It's either he's going to die or he's going to stay. "Don't leave me. We need you. I need you. Stay awake, please, just stay awake … I love you …"

**/break\\\**

Lukas was there, stroking his silver hair. He smiled, rubbed the man's cheek with his thumb. He wasn't going to leave. No one – not even a duplicate of the man in front of him – could convince him to leave.

"Erik," Lukas murmured. "Jeg elsker deg."

He kissed him softly. "Ég elska þig."

Lukas stood up. He sat up, just noticing that he – once again – on the couch. Lukas helped him stand. He tilted his head. Why was Lukas acting this way? Maybe he had scared him more than previously thought?

"Erik. You mean so much to me. I'm always scared that you'll leave me, but you prove me wrong every time." To his complete shock, Lukas got down on one knee, brought out a small box, opened it to reveal a ring.

"Erik … Will you marry me?"

OoOoOo

_I won't pretend_

_Sometimes I wish_

_I was somebody else_

_I won't pretend_

_Sometimes I wish_

_I was somebody else_

_You were right, you were right_

_About everything_

_But I didn't wanna listen_

_Going, going gone_

_I'm going, going gone_

_You find out how much you lied_

_And then you die!_

'_**And Then You Die,' Karate High School**_

OoOoOo

**Muahaha! I'm so evil! I'm curious, though, dear readers. What do you think happened? Did Iceland stay in his dream? Did he die, or is he still alive? Does he ultimately wake up? Did real-world Norway say 'I love you' in a platonic or an intimate way? I honestly want to know what you think!**

**I failz at Sweden's speech pattern thing. *sigh* And sorry about the ending. It wasn't as well-written as the rest of the story, but … *shrugs* It is what it is.**

**I don't speak any of these languages. At all. I used a translator. We all know how that ends up. So, if you, dear reader, are fluent in any of these languages, feel free to correct me.**

**Translations:**

**God morgen = good morning **_**(Norwegian)**_

**Kjære = love/dear **_**(Norwegian)**_

**Jeg elsker deg = I love you **_**(Norwegian)**_

**Islanti, ole hyvä = Iceland, please **_**(Finnish)**_

**Ég elska þig = I love you **_**(Icelandic)**_

**Ísland = Iceland **_**(Norwegian)**_

**On another note, I got Hetalia: Season 4 dubbed! Yay!**

***************SPOILER ALERT FOR HETALIA DUBBED! WALK AWAY NOWWWWWW (OR SKIP THIS AND JUST REVIEW!)*********************************

(MAKING SURE YOU PEOPLE DON'T READ SPOILERS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO)

(*doesn't want people to get mad*)

Okay, good enough. ANYwho...

**I don't like how the Nordic special episode was dubbed *memorized the Japanese subbed version* but I still love the Nordics! But I swear NorIce is even more canon in my head. In the dubbed, Norway says something along the lines of, "Stop procrastinating and say my name. You know you want to. Please?" I went all NORICE IS THERE! *headdesk* This is what happens when I write a pairing. I start looking for it. EVERYwhere.**

***shudders* Can't. Unsee. Germany/Italy. (just normal – ahem – violence. But it looks like something else, if you get my drift. Doesn't help that Italy's naked.)**

Ahem. So, just ignore my fangirl-y rant and review my story. Please? I accept constructive criticism (I want it, actually)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! First off, I've gotta say thanks to my reviewers! I know I don't reply to reviews (usually), but just know that I am amazed and ever-thankful that people enjoy my stories so much.**

**I've decided to write 2 epilogues. Because they're epilogues, they are extremely, extremely short. To the point where you guys are going to hate me. *hides***

**Here's Norway's Epilogue, you guys!**

OoOoOo

_Getting up, getting dressed_

_Livin' with this regret_

_But I know if I could do it over_

_I would trade, give away_

_All the words that I saved in my heart_

_That I left unspoken_

'_**What Hurts the Most,' Rascal Flatts**_

OoOoOo

He still doesn't believe it. He wants it to be a dream – he winces at that thought. It all started with a dream. It all ended with a dream. Dreams are meant to stay in your head. That's why they're dreams. They're not supposed to become real, not to anyone. They're pretend. They're gone when you're awake.

He clasps his hands together, tries to prevent them from shaking. He takes a shuddering breath, lets it out. He can do this. He can do this. He closes his eyes, pictures how Iceland had been as a child. He'd been so cute, so dependent on him. How had he grown up to become … so alone, so depressed? How did he not know – how did _any _of them not know – what had been going on inside the man's head?

He sees Finland and Sweden return to their seats. Sweden gives him a brief nod. It's his turn.

He stands up on shaky legs, almost collapses. Denmark is there to steady him. Together, they begin walking the long – oh, so long – distance to where his brother is. Almost there, he pauses. They stand beside the wood that, on the other side, hides his brother. Denmark slips a hand into his. He squeezes it. He isn't ready, but he knows he will never be ready. Denmark opens the barrier between him and Iceland.

He can't move. He sees his brother, cold and pale. His brother's eyes are closed. There's the slightest of smiles on the man's lips. He chokes back a sob. For once in his life, he shows emotion.

It was because he never showed Iceland his emotions that the man had gotten to be like this. His brother felt like he couldn't approach him. He'd made a whole new damned reality where he showed his emotions, even the slightest bit – he knows this because Iceland talked a bit in his sleep. He wonders if he'd shown Iceland just how much he cares, that maybe the silver-haired man would never had become this.

He wishes he could have said more to him. He wishes that he could have made a difference. He'd tried everything when Iceland had lost sight of reality. He'd even gone so far as to say 'I love you' in a last-ditch effort. Maybe, if Iceland had felt like he belonged, he wouldn't have created another world in his mind. A world that became all too real for him.

Denmark urges him forward. He refuses to acknowledge the machines. The machines all connected to his brother in some way or another. He knows that the machines are the only things keeping his brother alive. His brother is brain dead. He refuses to let the doctors pull the plug on his brother. He's not ready to let go. But he wonders which is worse: barely being alive, or death.

He stands beside the hospital bed. He holds Denmark's hand so tightly he's surprised Denmark hasn't commented on it yet. He stares down at his brother. He hears and sees all of the machines. His façade cracks. He turns, allows Denmark to hold him. He cries, lets the other man see his grief.

_Wherever your mind is, Iceland … I hope you're happy …_

OoOoOo

**And that's it! Iceland's epilogue will be up soon! A warning, though, it is significantly shorter than this one.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's Iceland's Epilogue! And yes, I know you guys are probably angry with me. But when I wrote the actual story, I pictured from the beginning that Iceland either stayed in a coma or died. Sorry!**

**BTW, **Vivaldian **is the one who made me realize … if Ice is dead, then he can't dream … So thank you for reminding me of that fact. So all you readers, thank him/her for unintentionally changing my mind! (Ice was supposed to die. I guess brain dead isn't much better, but still.) Oh, and in case you can't tell (*sarcasm*) I am not a doctor. I have no clue what anything medical is. I use google for my information. So, sorry for any medical inaccuracies in the past two chapters.**

**But because you probably want to see what happened with Iceland, there's this!**

**I couldn't find a good song. And I wanted to get this posted so I don't get eaten alive.**

OoOoOo

He was walking down the aisle.

He was _walking_ down the _aisle_.

He still couldn't believe it. His mind was in a daze. Around him, he saw blurred shapes that were their guests to their wedding. Their wedding … He couldn't believe it. Not for a second. His heart beat hard and fast, his stomach in his throat. He felt nauseas. He wasn't going to lie to himself. He was terrified. Marriage. What a strong word.

He was always scared that he'd return to the other world. What if he got stuck there and never got to see his lover again? That had been a small part of the reason he'd said yes when Lukas had proposed. The larger part wanted to spend the rest of his existence with Lukas. No matter what the cost.

He knew that the other countries were having a fit. Some of them saw this as a plan of world domination, or something. He didn't care, and neither did Lukas nor the other Nordics. The five of them knew that this wasn't a marriage between Norway and Iceland. This was a marriage between Lukas and Erik. Erik and Lukas. It had a nice ring to it.

But he hadn't been back to the other world in a week. He assumed he was dead there, or they couldn't get him to wake up into their reality. He still didn't know which one was the dream and which one was real. He still didn't care. He loved _this_ Lukas. He loved his family – Matthias, Tino, and Berwald.

He knew the moment the Lukas duplicate had said 'I love you' to him that it wasn't honest. For one thing, _his_ Lukas always said it in Norwegian. There was also the absolute look of desperation on the imposter's face. He'd known immediately that the other man would do anything to keep him there. He hadn't fallen for the man's lies. He was eternally grateful that he hadn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here, standing beside his lover. His partner.

He didn't hear any of the words that were spoken to him, or the words that he repeated. His heart pounded, blocked his ears. He only had eyes for Lukas. Lukas grinned slightly at him. They placed the rings on each other's hands. And then he said the words that would tie them together until the end of time:

"I do."

OoOoOo

***Hides***

**So, yeah. That's it. Tell me what you think!**

**Also, I haven't been to a wedding in a long, long time. I was about 7 at the last one I went to. I have no idea in what order things go except the very basics: Walk down the aisle. Some talking. Say "I do." Rings are placed on each other's fingers at some point. *sighs* Ayaiyai…**

**Sorry this isn't long. But it IS an epilogue. Besides, let's face it, you guys only wanted to know what happened in the real world.**

**And **Vivaldian **brings up a lot of good points in his/her reviews. In fact, he/she has **_**maybeeeee**_ **unintentionally inspired me to write a sequel. Maybe.**


	4. Sequel Up!

**Hello loyal readers! I was inspired to write a sequel to this story! The first chapter of two is up! It's called 'Losing Sight of Yourself'. Expect the second part within the next week. Hope you enjoy!**

**-JustMakeLeftTurns**


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